


Come Pick Me Up

by kittymaine



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Accidents, Concussions, Hospitals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymaine/pseuds/kittymaine
Summary: Jaskier is hurt in a car accident and then comforts Geralt. Am I doing hurt/comfort right?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 379





	Come Pick Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> There's some context clues in the fic itself, but I thought I would add a note in the beginning just to avoid any confusion. This is a modern AU wherein Geralt and Jaskier have been married for a number of years.

The call came in just after Geralt had gotten home from work. It was Jaskier, which wasn’t odd, though he wasn’t expecting the call. He had last seen him that morning when he had kissed him goodbye and wished him luck on his trip. Jaskier was supposed to board a plane around noon to kick off a month long tour with some other musician friends. He had been excited and had booked a cab to come pick him up that morning and take him to the airport. He had done the same tour every year for the past few years and always seemed to enjoy himself. Geralt missed him while he was gone, but couldn’t begrudge his husband for participating. Jaskier’s music always enjoyed a bump in sales for months afterward and Jaskier was effervescent with happiness for weeks after he got back.

“Hello,” Geralt grunted into his phone, tucking it into his shoulder so he could pull off his boots and toss them near the door.

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s voice carried across the phone line to his ear. His voice sounded faint and tired, so completely unlike himself that Geralt froze where he had been working on his second boot.

“Jaskier,” Geralt replied worriedly, straightening and grasping his phone tightly. “Where are you? What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m at the hospital. I need you to come pick me up. Have you gotten off of work?” Jaskier replied, still sounding flat.

“I just got home,” Geralt replied shortly, fumbling to tuck his phone back into the curve of his shoulder so he could step back into his boots. “Which hospital are you at? Memorial or UPMC?” he asked, grabbing his wallet off the side table and yanking the door open. He didn’t bother to lock the door on his way out, hurrying down the hallway of their apartment building and back to the parking garage he had just left.

“Memorial,” Jaskier replied. Again, a short flat answer.

“What happened? Are you medicated?” Geralt asked. He had to keep moving. If he just kept going, he could keep the panic down.

“Yeah,” Jaskier slurred slightly, a little of a laugh in his voice. “It’s that obvious?”

“It’s very obvious,” Geralt replied flatly.

A breathy laugh came to him down the line, which took some of the edge off of Geralt’s panic.

“Jaskier, what happened?” Geralt prompted him again.

“There was an accident,” Jaskier sighed, sounding put out. Geralt imagined he had already related this story many times in the hospital and would probably have to tell it many more times in the weeks to come. “My cab driver cut someone off on the highway and spun out into the median.”

“How badly were you hurt?” Geralt asked. He was in his car and pulling out of the garage by then. He reminded himself to control himself, to drive under the speed limit, not to drive aggressively. If the hospital hadn’t called him, if Jaskier was ready to be picked up and was not being admitted, he must be okay. If Geralt got into an accident due to reckless driving, Jaskier would be stranded at the hospital or worse joined by himself.

Jaskier hummed in his ear. “Not bad, I suppose. It could have been much worse.”

“What are your injuries? Why did you have to go to the hospital?” Geralt asked. He just barely stopped himself from running a red light less than a mile from their apartment. It would be about twenty minutes with rush hour traffic to get to the hospital. Luckily, they lived close by.

“I hit my head on the passenger side window and was bleeding when the EMTs got there. I also had trouble walking on my right knee, so they wanted me to go to the hospital to be checked out,” Jaskier explained. He was starting to sound sleepy. “The doctors said I have a concussion.”

“What about your knee?” Geralt asked, signalling and cautioning himself to wait before making a right at a busy intersection.

“They x-rayed it and said it’s just badly bruised. It’s swollen up like there’s an orange in there, though. It’s gross,” Jaskier laughed again, sounding more than a little giddy.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?” Geralt asked. Jaskier sounded okay, but he was good at masking his fear in Geralt’s experience. He would prefer he not feel he had to tough it out when Geralt could keep him talking until he got there.

“No, that’s okay,” Jaskier sighed. Geralt thought it sounded sincere, but again Jaskier was good at masking his emotions. “I still have paperwork to fill out before they’ll discharge me. Hopefully I’ll be done before you get here.”

“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Geralt said gruffly.

“Okay. Please drive safe, dear,” Jaskier said, concerned.

“Don’t worry about me,” Geralt assured him. “See you soon.”

Jaskier returned the sentiment and then hung up.

Geralt tried to focus on the road and was surprised to see that his hands were shaking. Jaskier was fine. He had just talked to him on the phone. He laughed and joked with him. He was well enough to worry about Geralt. Jaskier was okay. He was okay, Geralt continued to reassure himself.

He had been to war, he had been shot and burnt and seen men and women die. Hell, he had killed people himself. Still, the idea of Jaskier sitting alone and hurt in a hospital made a panic pulse in his throat, it tightened his chest and churned his stomach. He was still surprised, even after being married for years, the depths at which Jaskier could affect him.

Geralt went to the front entrance of the hospital initially, but the older man at the information desk redirected him to the emergency department. Geralt rode a stale smelling industrial elevator down one level to the emergency room. As opposed to the glass panels with lush greenery of the expensive looking front entrance, the emergency room had uncomfortable plastic furniture that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the mid 1980s. The ceiling was covered with drop tiles and fluorescent lighting, scuffed tile floors and scratched beige walls. There were two vending machines humming in the corner beside a water fountain and two security guards sitting behind a small cheap particle board desk.

Jaskier was sitting in a wheelchair wearing grey sweats that definitely didn’t belong to him, dozing with his head resting back against the wall.

“Jaskier!” Geralt called, causing heads to swivel in his direction from the few people staggered around the waiting room. Jaskier’s eyes popped open at the sound of his name and he looked around groggily until his eyes settled on Geralt and he smiled wanly. Geralt knelt in front of him, carefully resting his hand on the knee that looked significantly smaller than the other. “Are you alright?” Geralt asked, surprised to find that he felt out of breath despite having fast walked less than three hundred feet.

“Yes, I’m quite alright. Ready to go home, though,” Jaskier said with a warm smile, placing his own hand over Geralt’s on his knee.

“Sir, you need to sign in,” a stern voice said from behind Geralt. Geralt grit his teeth and looked behind him at the young man in a security uniform standing behind him. The man looked bored more than anything else.

“Oh, he’s just here to pick me up,” Jaskier assured the security guard with a charming smile.

The security guard nodded, but didn’t otherwise move away.

At that point, a nurse who had previously been standing behind a round desk a few feet away approached. He put his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and bent down slightly. “Do you want to take the wheelchair out to your car?”

“No, I think I’m alright to walk,” Jaskier smiled up at the young nurse.

It suddenly struck Geralt that he had parked in the parking garage and not near the emergency room entrance. He looked up at the nurse with a stricken expression. “I left my car near the front entrance. Can I pull it up to the doors here?”

“Sure,” the nurse replied. “We have ten minute parking for picking up and dropping off. Did you need directions to bring it around?” he asked.

“No, I can find it,” Geralt said, getting up.

“I’ll wait for you at the exit,” Jaskier said, struggling to stand up.

“Absolutely not. Stay in that chair,” Geralt snapped.

“Why don’t I roll you to the exit and we can wait together?” the nurse asked kindly, effortlessly mediating the situation.

Jaskier scoffed, but gave up surprisingly easily. This concerned Geralt, but he didn’t let himself dwell on it. Jaskier was obviously tired, sore and medicated. Geralt wanted to get him home as soon as possible.

Geralt was embarrassed by how long it took him to find his car in the parking garage. He had been so frazzled when he parked he took no time to take notice of where it was that he had parked. He was even more embarrassed by how long it took him to find his way from the front entrance to the emergency room entrance. The hospital that Jaskier was at was an old one that had been remodeled many times and had pieces built on so often that all the roads and parking around it were a complicated mess. It seemed to take forever before he could pull his small gray sedan to the front entrance and jump out, but his phone informed him it had only been ten minutes.

The male nurse was good to his word and was standing beside Jaskier’s wheelchair near the automatic glass doors. He took one arm and Geralt took the other and together they eased Jaskier out of the wheelchair. He grimaced as he stood, but otherwise didn’t give any indication of discomfort. Geralt could easily see that he wasn’t putting any weight on his right knee at all.

“These are all of his personal items,” the nurse said, proffering a plastic drawstring bag. “These are his discharge papers as well as his prescriptions,” he added, this time handing over a thin paper folder with some prescriptions paperclipped to the front. “Our number is on there in case you have any questions or run into any issues. We recommend he make an appointment with his regular doctor for follow up.”

“Understood. Thank you,” Geralt said, keeping one hand on Jaskier’s elbow and taking the bag and folder with his other.

“Thank you, Nurse David,” Jaskier said with a smile, as Geralt carefully helped him hobble toward the car.

It seemed to take forever for Jaskier to carefully hop his way on one leg to the car and Geralt found himself dreading taking him back to their apartment from the parking garage. It was a big complex and a long walk to their front door.

Once they were in the car, something in Geralt’s chest settled. Everything wasn’t perfectly fine, but Jaskier and he were together, Jaskier was officially out of the hospital and in less than half an hour they would be home.

“We should stop by the pharmacy on the way home so that we can drop off your prescriptions,” Geralt said, as he shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb.

“How do you feel about Taco Bell?” Jaskier asked in a tired voice.

Geralt looked over to give Jaskier a dirty look, but pulled it back after a few seconds. He had been trying to break Jaskier from eating fast food for years. It was garbage food, a point that Jaskier didn’t fight him on, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want it. Usually, Geralt would give him a firm no and possibly Jaskier would needle and whine at him, but Jaskier looked so exhausted. There, in the natural light of the setting sun, Geralt could see the red marks along the side of his face that would surely become bruises by the next day. He had bags under his eyes and looked boneless where he was strapped into the passenger seat.

Geralt sighed. “Don’t make a habit of it,” he said, defeated.

Jaskier gave a silent fist pump and leaned over to rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder for a brief moment. “This is why I married you,” he said before sitting back.

“For the shitty barely mexican food?” Geralt snarked.

“And that,” Jaskier smirked.

They spent the rest of the car ride mostly talking about the car accident and Jaskier’s time in the hospital. The details of the accident, how and why it happened, who was involved and how long Jaskier was stuck at the scene slowly filled in. Jaskier confirmed that the staff at the hospital had given him some pretty good painkillers while he was there and warned him that once they wore off he would probably have a splitting headache. For the time being, he was just sleepy.

“What do you want?” Geralt asked as they pulled up to the Taco Bell drive through.

“A cheesy gordita crunch, two chicken chalupa supremes, a mexican pizza- No! Wait, a crunchwrap- wait! No, okay, a bean filled crunchwrap supreme-”

Geralt groaned. This all sounded disgusting to him, but he tried to contain his revulsion for Jaskier’s sake.

“Okay, all right, and a large baja blast. That’s it,” Jaskier finished with an apologetic look.

Geralt returned that look with a stern look of his own. “This is only because you’re feeble,” he admonished.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jaskier said drily.

Geralt repressed a smile at Jaskier’s cheeky reply and relayed his order to the best of his ability to the teenager on the other side of the drive through.

Their stop at the pharmacy was uneventful. Geralt dropped the prescriptions off and the lady at the desk advised him to come back in a few hours to pick up Jaskier’s medications. While he was doing that, Jaskier fell asleep in the car and startled awake when Geralt came back and closed the driver’s side door.

It was just a short drive from the pharmacy to their apartment building. Once they were parked in their normal spot, Geralt rushed to get out and get to Jaskier’s door before he could struggle out of it. Geralt opened the door and kneeled down beside it. Jaskier gave him a quizzical eyebrow.

“It’s a long walk to the apartment. I think you should let me carry you,” Geralt said with a determined expression.

Jaskier laughed, but stopped when he saw that Geralt wasn’t doing the same. “Oh, you’re serious,” Jaskier said, looking surprised.

“Your knee is still badly swollen and it will get worse if you try to walk on it like that,” Geralt tried to reason.

“I’m not protesting!” Jaskier exclaimed, “Quite the opposite.” He held out his arms with an obnoxious grin. “Take me away, my dear!”

Geralt gave Jaskier an unimpressed look, but it didn’t dim the happy grin on Jaskier’s face, so he figured it would be best to just get it over with.

A few minutes of awkward fumbling later, Jaskier was slung against Geralt’s back, his arms wrapped around Geralt’s neck, one of Geralt’s hands under Jaskier’s good knee and the bag with Jaskier’s food, clothes and discharge papers in his others.

“I guess there are some perks to being married to a beefcake,” Jaskier sighed into his ear once they were in the elevator.

“I’m going to drop you,” Geralt threatened.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jaskier retorted with faux insult in his voice.

Geralt sighed. “No, I wouldn’t,”

Back in their apartment, Geralt settled Jaskier in the bedroom. He helped Jaskier change out of the sweats that the hospital had given him and into his own pajamas. Whatever medication the nurses in the hospital had given Jaskier was starting to wear off to be replaced by the headache he had been warned about. It was already starting to get dark out, but Geralt closed the blinds anyway. Jaskier waved off any additional medication, food or drink beyond the few bites he had taken of his Taco Bell order. He snuggled down in the blankets and seemed to immediately pass out.

Geralt retreated back into the living room of their small apartment. He put the remains of Jaskier’s food in the fridge. He knew from experience that cold take out was almost as good to Jaskier as hot. He read through the discharge papers that the nurse had provided him. They mostly expanded on the instructions that Jaskier had repeated to him. Most of them were in reference to the concussion. They said that Jaskier would likely suffer from headaches, light sensitivity and fatigue. He needed as much sleep as possible to recover. He needed to stay off of and ice his knee as much as he could.

After reading through the discharge papers, Geralt opened the bag with Jaskier’s belongings and stopped.

Inside the bag were all the clothes that Jaskier had been wearing that morning, his shoes, his wallet and his carry on bag. His clothes were by far the most concerning. They were splashed with blood, especially his hoodie and t shirt, and had been cut off of him with shears, jagged cuts bisecting his clothes down the front. Even his pants and underwear had been cut off of him. The clothing lay on their kitchen table in a pile, Geralt carefully plucking the pieces apart as he tried to make out exactly what had happened to them. Eventually, after minutes of breathing through his nose to try and calm himself down, Geralt took the clothing in one big handful and shoved them to the bottom of the kitchen trash can. He could buy Jaskier new clothes later, if he was upset about it. There was no repairing the damage done.

Geralt suddenly felt restless. Jaskier was asleep and he didn’t want to leave him alone in the apartment, so Geralt ended up pacing back and forth between the kitchen and the living room. After a little while of stomping back and forth, he turned on the TV with the volume down low and turned on the news. The droning voices of the reporters and the pacing helped with the terrible feeling in his stomach that the bloodied clothes had brought back. Eventually, he was able to settle down enough to make himself a simple dinner and get ready for bed.

He was careful getting into bed beside Jaskier, but he didn’t have to bother. Jaskier was snoring loudly, his arm thrown out above his head and his mouth open. In the pale light of the streetlights streaking between their blinds, Geralt could make out the white gauze square taped to Jaskier’s forehead dotted with red that had previously been hidden beneath his hair.

Geralt still felt anxious. Jaskier was home and safe, so why did he still feel so uncertain. He worried he wouldn’t be able to sleep, but it seemed that as soon as Geralt settled down on his back he passed out, the stress of the past few hours quickly catching up to him.

The next day, Geralt got up early to call off work. Jaskier slept in late and Geralt didn’t dare to bother him. It was almost noon by the time Jaskier fumbled out of the living room hopping on one leg, causing Geralt to shoot up from where he was sitting on the couch and rush to his side.

“You should have called for me. I would have helped you up,” Geralt scolded.

Jaskire grumbled, but if any of it was actual language, Geralt couldn’t make it out.

“Are you hungry?” Geralt asked, helping Jaskier to the couch to lay down.

“No, but I am sore. Do we have any painkillers?” Jaskier asked, shielding his eyes from the dim light that managed to come into the living room past their closed curtains.

“I picked up your prescribed painkillers this morning,” Geralt said, going to the kitchen to get the small bundle of pill bottles he had picked up from the pharmacy. “You’re not supposed to take them on an empty stomach,” Geralt cautioned.

Jaskier groaned in distaste, but otherwise didn’t respond.

“Do you want your Taco Bell from yesterday? I put it in the fridge,” Geralt asked.

Jaskier’s head popped out from behind his hand at that. “Oh! I had forgotten about that. Yes, I’ll eat that,” he agreed happily.

Geralt pulled a face as he grabbed the greasy bag of fast food out of their otherwise pristine fridge. He put it on the coffee table in front of Jaskier as he struggled into a sitting position.

“How’s your knee?” Geralt asked, eying his right knee. It looked almost back to its normal size, but it was hard to tell under Jaskier’s pajamas.

Jaskier had a soft shell taco shoved into his mouth, so he didn’t try to answer. Instead, he reached down and rolled up his pajama pants to reveal his knee. The swelling had gone down, but there was still a good sized knot sitting to the right of his kneecap. Unfortunately, the swelling had largely been replaced with a huge mottled purple bruise that took up all of Jaskier’s knee and most of the right side of his leg.

Grunting in surprise, Jaskier pulled the taco out of his mouth to say, “Well, that is both better and worse than I expected.”

Geralt’s face crumpled at the bruising. It looked terrible. He tried to console himself, to remind himself that he knew that there was no lasting damage, that it was just a bad bruise. The visual, especially on someone he loved so dearly, was too upsetting to dismiss.

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathed, as he got down on his knees and pressed both hands gently over Jaskier’s bruised leg.

“Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, pressing one hand on top of both of Geralt’s and leaning toward him. “It’s okay. It looks much worse than it is.”

Geralt knew that was true. Jaskier was absolutely right. The bruise was ugly, but it would fade in the next few weeks and leave no trace behind.

“You could have died,” Geralt said, instead of all of those very reasonable things. “When I thought of not having you with me anymore, I-” Geralt choked on the words, the events of yesterday crushing down on him all at once, all the thoughts he had been pushing down rushing to the back of his throat.

Jaskier pressed his other hand to the side of Geralt’s face. “It was scary, I know,” he said quietly. “I was lucky that things worked out the way they did. I for one am happy that I’ll have many more years to spend with you,” Jaskier murmured, pressing his lips to the side of Geralt’s face.

“I was so worried,” Geralt ground out, not sure what else could capture what he felt or had been feeling since he got Jaskier’s call.

“I’m sorry, love,” Jaskier whispered, peppering kisses down the side of Geralt’s face.

“I should have been there. You should have called me right away,” Geralt grumbled, melting under Jaskier’s kisses, though he wanted to hang onto his fear and anxiety.

“I know. It took hours, but it felt like everything was moving so fast. I will call you right away next time,” Jaskier agreed, pressing lips to Geralt’s neck.

Geralt gently pushed Jaskier back by his shoulders.

“There won’t be a next time,” he said with a serious face.

Jaskier frowned. “Geralt,” he sighed in exasperation.

Geralt shook his head. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn’t help it. He almost wanted to keep Jaskier in their apartment forever, never let him take any risks again, but he knew that was foolish. Jaskier thrived on social interaction, on meeting people and entertaining. He was also more fearless than most people Geralt knew. He wouldn’t let the accident slow him down.

Geralt buried his face in Jaskier’s neck instead of holding his disapproving gaze. “Perhaps I’ll drive you everywhere from now on,” he said.

Jaskier snorted. “Yes, that will surely work. Vesemir will like that.”

Geralt grimaced at the name of his boss. He didn’t want to think about work. Vesemir was understanding that morning, but he wouldn’t stay that way for long.

“Perhaps you can take the bus from now on,” Geralt said instead.

“Yes, because the bus is certainly safer,” Jaskier responded.

Geralt was silent about that. Jaskier again was not wrong. Geralt hated when Jaskier was the reasonable one.

“Perhaps we can just fuck and laugh and live as much as we can for as long as we can,” Jaskier suggested and Geralt grunted in agreement. Jaskier could be wise sometimes. He supposed he was lucky to have blundered his way into marrying the man.

“Did you want to get started on that first part?” Jaskier teased.

Geralt pinched his side, making him jump and smack him on the back. “You have a concussion,” Geralt said in an unimpressed voice.

“I’m feeling much better,” Jaskier said innocently.

“Eat your shitty tacos,” Geralt sighed and Jaskier pouted.

But, he did eat his shitty tacos. And, they did get to fucking a few hours later. So, everything turned out okay in the end.


End file.
